Sometimes I like to pretend that
I'm God, putting a pen to
paper and scripting out someone's
life like a puppeteer.
Maybe if I
wrote the epilogue in
my own blood, the
screams inside my
head wouldn't be as
loud.
"They aren't
real," is just an excuse
for killing off their
loved ones; I want to feel
their agony tenfold (because I
deserve to think I'm as heartless
as I feel).